Jules
by Chloe Mimbletonia
Summary: So, I had an idea for a story, I went to write it down and came out with three chapters... Don't know what to name it yet, so I'lljust name it the name of the main char. But tell me if you like it and I'll continue :  Thanks!
1. Attacked

**1. Attacked**

I flew around a corner, barely daring to stop and take a breath, my side aching from running. They were close behind though, yelling at me, which willed me on.

"C'mon freak, we just want to chat!"

"Yeah, come let us knock some sense into you!"

I glanced behind me. The two boys, tough as nail with their cropped hair and baggy sweatpants, were catching up. They were faster than me, and older too- a year ahead at school. Their legs were longer and they were going to get me. I started to panic, losing my breath from fear and from running so far. That's when I fell. I crashed into the sidewalk, my knees and hands stinging from the hard impact of the concrete. The two were on me in a second, like vultures to dead animals.

"Why'd you run, freaky? Don't you know if you run it'll be worse?" Said the smaller of the two, picking at a scab on his rat-like face and glaring down at me with cold dark eyes.

"Collins... please, I didn't do anything." I pleaded. But the boys just laughed.

"You call that not doing anything, ay?" Collins sneered, "You were working some freaky trick in the park, and we don't like that, do we Barrie?" The bulky boy shook his head and cracked his knuckes menacingly.

I hadn't meant to let anyone see, let alone the two worst bullies at school, but sometimes I could do things. I didn't really understand it, but I could make things change. It was a secret that I didn't want anyone to know about, but I had been able to do things for three years now, since I was 10, and it was just getting stronger. Sometimes I did things without meaning to, and sometimes I did it on purpose. Tonight, at the park I had been testing my, well, powers, for lack of a better word, around the small fenced area. I could make the swings go back and forth and when I picked up a flower, I could make it change colour. That was when Barrie and Collins saw me. That was when I had to run.

The first punch came, hard and fast to the right side of my face, and then more, again and again. Just before I felt like I was going to pass out with the pain, they stopped. I was lying on the ground, curled up, pathetic. Blood ran from my nose and lips onto the concrete,creating pretty patterns on the grey.

"We don't like freaks." spat Collins, and the boys walked away, laughing. After I had made sure they had left for good, I slowly got up, my face and stomach aching, my mouth full of the taste of blood. I slowly limped home, each step excruciating.

When I reached my house, I went around the side and into the garden, quietly unlatching the back door. I breathed a sigh of releif that my dad wasn't in the kitchen. Once, only once,I had let him see me beat up. He was livid. Angry that I was such a wimp not to stand up for myself; and then I got beat up worse than I had done at school that day by Collins.

I sneaked past the door to the sitting room, hearing the television blasting some crude late-night show. My dad was snoring on the couch, his head leaning back on the wall, four beer bottles littering the coffee table. I tiptoed up the stairs and creaked closed the door to my room. Still in my clothes, exhausted and broken, I collapsed on the bed.

It had been a week since the incident at the park and I still had two black eyes, which did not help my already awful looks. It wasn't that I was ugly but I was skinny and small, and I had the same facial features as my father; a man that I detested. Just like him, I had a mop of dishevled dirty blonde hair which came down just past my ears. Just like him, I had grey, plain eyes, though mine did not always burn with hate and malice as his did on the rare occasions I met eyes with him.

It was October and I was getting ready for school, pulling on my ill fitting uniform. I had had it for way too long, but my father would not buy me a new one, and I was scared to ask more than once. The blue jumper sleeves came up to my elbows and my skinny ankles were visible under my grey pants. I stuffed my homework into my sidebag and ran down the stairs. My father was at the bottom of the stairs, standing beside the door.

"Jules," he said gruffly, saying my name like it was poison. "You best be home right after school. We need to talk." His eyes burned into mine.

"Yes, sir." I said, and scooted out the door. As if I had anywhere else to go after school but home.

The day at school was dreadful. I sat there, worrying about what my dad was going to say when I got home. What had I done now? Nothing, not even the lessons could distract my morose musing. That was, until Anna Freisen came up to me after third period.

I had fancied Anna Freisen for about two years now. She was a small girl, with long dark brown hair down her back and a smile always on her face. I envied that smile.

"What happened to your eyes?" She asked in her sweet, mousy voice.

"Oh... I... uh, it's a long story." I blundered, feeling a blush creep up the back of my neck. Her smile broadened.

"I hope it doesn't hurt," Anna said, touching just above my eyebrow tenderly. It was like a thousand sparklers had been lit inside my belly. "It makes you look cute, like a little racoon."

"Uh, thank you. And it doesn't hurt so much anymore."

"I'm glad," a blush appeared on her pretty cheeks. "So, Jules, I, um, wanted to know if you would like to get a coffee with my sometime after class.." Her words hung in my ears like a dream

"Yes!" I said, much too loud. "I mean... sure, that would be great." I smiled like an idiot. She smiled back.

"Good! Well, see you later then, Jules." Anna walked away, and I stood there for a while, stunned by my streak of good luck, until I realized I still had one more class and hurried off.

On the way home I could have skipped. It was only when I reached my front door when I had remembered the talk with my dad. I paled. Slowly, I unlocked the door, dreading what was to come.


	2. Buses

2. Buses

I was standing in the kitchen, two metres away from my dad, who was leaning against the counter, staring at the linomium floor.

"You.. you wanted to see me, dad?" I said meekly. He looked up.

"Yes, Jules. I have news." He took a deep breath. "Yesterday, I lost my job." Not surprising. What was surprising was that anyone would hire such a foul man as my father.

"Okay." I replied, not trusting myself to say anything more.

"Don't take that tone, boy." My father snapped. "I'm not going to have any money to spend on you waste of space while I'm out of work. That's why I'm sending you to live with your Granny Martha."

"What!" I spat, "All the way up in Scotland? You can't send me there!" Granny Martha, one of the few people I hated more than my father, though right now it was a close tie. Whenever we visited her she would make snide comments about me- how my dad should never had taken care of me after my mother died, how I wasn't fit to live. If I lived with her, she would work me to the bone, I knew it.

My father, it seemed, was not pleased with my outburst.

"You shut your mouth, boy, before I shut it for you." He said, shoving me into the kitchen wall. My shoulderblade hit the drywall hard. Great, another bruise for my collection. Really, this should have shut me up, but I was mad. I couldn't go live with her. I just couldn't.

"I am NOT going there!" I yelled. The lightbulb burst overhead on my last word and we both looked up. Then my dad snarled, malice twinkling in his eyes. This was followed with a sharp blow to my diaphram and I doubled up, winded.

"You will go there, or believe me, son," On the word son, another blow was delivered to my stomach and I willed myself not to retch then and there. "You will sorely regret it. Now get upstairs and pack. Your bus leaves tomorrow evening." He stalked out of the room, but not after scooping up a beer from the counter.

Once I could breathe again, I scurried upstairs. I could kill him, I really could. I hated him, I HATED him! I punched the door to my closet, but instead of causing any damage I simply added to my list of injuries.

My anger being replaced by pain, I started to pack the few things I owned into my old brown suitcase. A couple ugly old christmas sweaters adorned with reindeer from my crazy aunt in Australia. A pair of jeans. My school uniform, after taking it off to inspect the new bruises flowering over my already bruised ribs. Underwear. My toothbrush. After that, the things that really mattered: the two books I owned, a picture of my mother. And my most prized possesion, though it seemed like nothing, it was something I knew was special. A thin piece of light wood, with intracite designs engraved near the end. It was probably a little more than half a foot long. I had no idea what it was, but I knew it was special to my mother, because I found it in her box of special things after she died. A box that had always been unopenable. It was beautiful. Carefully, I packed this too, missing her more than ever.

Closing the suitcase, and lying down on my bed I thought of all that had gone on today. It was unfeasable. Suddenly, with a pang, I remembered my, dare I call it, date with Anna. It would never happen- I would be miles away by tomorrow. I closed my eyes, but not before the hot tears that had been welling up in them slid quietly down my cheeks. Tomorrow would be hell.

The rosy cheeked bus driver was chewing gum with undecent loudness.

"'Ello, son," he said cheerily, glancing at my ticket. "Hop on."

I walked up the bus stairs,wincing at the pain in my midrift and sat somewhere near the back. There were very few people on the bus, which was not surprising,considering it was just around the hour Eastenders came on. The doors closed and the bus rattled, waking up. I drifted in and out of sleep, dreading getting to Granny Martha's house, jumping everytime the bus driver yelled out a stop. I couldn't go there. I would barely survive a week. I must had been on the bus for two, thee, four hours so far? I had lost track of time. Again, I drifted into a sleepy state...

"Langleck Hill nex'!" The bus driver hollered. "Langleck Hill." My eyes shot open and I was woken abruptly, yet again. Still, this was probably the best rest I was going to get in a long while. And that's when I realized. I had to get off this bus. I stood up, my face striken but determined. I walked up to the front of the bus, my suitcase swinging beside my skinny legs.

"This is my stop, sir." I said in a shaky voice.

"Are ye sure, son?" Asked the bus driver genially, "I could'a sworn yer ticket said-"

"No, sir, this is my stop." The bus driver scratched his head.

"Alrigh'. Be safe, son"

"Yes. Thank you." I replied. The bus doors opened and I stepped out into the brisk Scottish air. I turned around and watched the bus disappear into the distance. I looked around. Nothing, as far as I could see. What the bloody hell was wrong with me? I couldn't have gotten off at a more sparse stop. I dove my hand into my pocket and brought it out holding $7.75. Lovely.

Ah well, time to start walking. A little luck and I'd come across a village or town soon enough. Though I was probably in a worse spot then I had ever been in before, a reluctant smile creeped onto my lips. I had a purpose; a goal. And that was more than I'd had in a long time.


	3. Castle

3. Castle

After two hours of walking, my tiredness was getting the better of me. I was ready to collapse, and the bruises covering my body weren't helping. This wasn't the first time I had wished I wasn't so weak, indeed I had been trapped in some awful situations at school, but this was a different kind of survival. I was tired and hungry, and all I could see was black ahead of me. In fact, I was starting to hallucinate, to see little spots of light in front of me. No, wait! Hold on, were those windows? I squinted, trying to see what was ahead of me. Yes, they were definetly windows. I started to run in my delusional state, tripping over my feet in the process. Yes! It was getting clearer now! There was a mass of trees that I came upon first, and I followed the outskirts of the forest like a path towards the lights. I felt as if I was going mad, which had to do with my hunger, weariness and panicky state of mind combined. There was a small wooden house, a cottage really, coming up fast towards me. If I could just make it there. I stumbled up the cottage stairs, not sure who I would meet inside, but exhilarated by the adventure of it. I rapped upon the door. And that's when I passed out.

"Hit his head hard when he fell... and he was covered in bruises. Disgraceful. Who does that to a child this small. He looks to be only twelve."

"Yes, but Poppy, where did he come from?"

"I haven't the foggiest, Minerva. You know as much as I do. Rubeus just _found _him on his steps and carried him up to the castle. Honestly, to treat a child of twelve, maybe even eleven- he's so small-"

"I'm fourteen." I muttered.

My eyes were opening now, foggy from the sleep. I was confused. Where was I? I remembered getting off the bus... and then... running..

"He's awake," snapped the sharp voice of the woman named Minerva. "He's awake, Poppy."

Two grey-haired women appeared over my bed. I smiled weakly.

"Hello, where am I?" I said. There was a candle flickering beside my head. I sat up and looked down at the clean white sheets over my body. I deduced that I was in some odd kind of hospital. The woman named Minerva gave him a stern look.

"I think, young man, you should tell us first who you are, and where you have come from." she said. The woman was quite old, with a severe line of a mouth and her hair up in a grey bun.

"I... Right. My name is Jules Terrace. I come from Birmingham, England." I rubbed my eyes, only to find they weren't sore with bruise anymore. I touched them tenderly, confused.

"Well, Mr. Terrace, you are at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My name is Professor McGonagall, Headmistress here at Hogwarts."

"Witchcraft?" I said, slightly alarmed. "You're a witch?" I sat up straighter.

"Yes, and you presumably are a wizard, or you would not have been able to even see this castle, as it has many anti-muggle charms upon it."

"Muggle?" I asked, unfarmiliar with the word, though it may just have been because my head was spinning with all of this information.

"A muggle is what we call a non-magical person." said McGonagall.

Magic. Wizard. Witch. This was all a big joke, it had to be. Though, perhaps it was true. I thought back to that day at the park. To the many different days, where I could do things. Magic. It fit.

"So I'm not just a freak," I whispered. "there are... more people."

Mcgonagall looked alarmed.

"Terrace, you were not aware that you were a wizard?" she said severly. I shook my head. "All young witches and wizards are sent a letter when they are eleven, stating that they have a place in the school. Surely you would have been sent one- Accio file!" McGonagall took out a long, thin piece of wood that very closely resembled the one I had tucked away in my suitcase. I stared at it. A few seconds later, a large,bulging file zoomed into McGonagall's outstretched hand. I gawped at this.

I watched as she rifled through the paper folder, until she proclaimed,

"Aha! Here we are! Terrence, Jules."

"You have a piece of paper with my name on it?" This had to be some weird dream, I felt like I was in the twilight zone. Mcgonagall stared me down.

"Yes. We also have a letter here from you declining the offer to go to Howarts." She said, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" I yelled. The other woman, who had kept quiet this whole time, gave me a sour glare at this and whispered,

"Really! There are other patients trying to sleep in here, you know, keep your voice down."

"Sorry," I said,"But I never wrote that letter. In fact, I've never heard of Hogwarts before." Mcgonagall handed me the letter. I read it quickly, realizing near the end that I recognized the handwritting. It was my fathers. I crumpled up the letter in one hand.


End file.
